Things I have managed to accomplish today:
- Baked sablés with not enough salt
- Baked a savory bread pudding with not enough egg
- Outlined a short story that I first wrote when I was thirteen, and then again when I was nineteen, and now again would like to write at almost twenty-seven years of age, but neglected to generate any creative content*
- Finished 9/10 of a moderately difficult New York Times crossword puzzle, 9/10 of that percentage being done by someone much cleverer than me
- Made a To Do list involving all sorts of personal and household goals, none of which were overly ambitious, and all being completely achievable by sundown today
- Crossed one thing off my To Do list
- Used a lot of "-" punctuation marks
So, then, here's to my sablés as a sad, salt-less metaphor for the kind of quotidian mediocrity that kicks you in the butt from time to time. The rest of the offending dough is hidden in the freezer, but I refuse to give up on it. I'm not sure how (visions of me letting the cold log come to room temperature, and then working more finely ground salt in, bring more visions of professional, or at the very least more adept, bakers shaking their heads and rolling pins in horror). Maybe a little coarsely ground stuff on top, before the next batch of sliced rounds go in the oven?
Here's then, too, to Bennett making dinner tonight.
*For those select few who've read my writing over the years, the story is not "Sandy", though that would be appropriate for this post . . . sablé means "sandy" in French.